Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander Edited, with a preface, by William Alexander |
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NON ANGLI SED ANGELI. |
 | Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander |  |
NON ANGLI SED ANGELI.
O children, playing down the lanes,
In England's favoured clime,
Where cross-crown'd churches stud the plains,
And bells on Sundays chime.
In England's favoured clime,
Where cross-crown'd churches stud the plains,
And bells on Sundays chime.
Where small feet wander as they list,
And man to man is dear,
And high and low keep holy tryst,
Through all the Christian Year.
And man to man is dear,
And high and low keep holy tryst,
Through all the Christian Year.
Doth even in your memories live,
The time whereof we read,
When Saxon did to Britain give,
Their valour and their creed?
The time whereof we read,
When Saxon did to Britain give,
Their valour and their creed?
457
Or came it ever to your thought,
When England's need was sore,
How her own blue-eyed children brought,
Salvation to her shore?
When England's need was sore,
How her own blue-eyed children brought,
Salvation to her shore?
When unto childish grace was given,
To wake a soft surprise,
And not in vain the blue of Heaven
Shone liquid from their eyes,—
To wake a soft surprise,
And not in vain the blue of Heaven
Shone liquid from their eyes,—
How haply where calm rivers glide,
Thro' greenly wooded lands,
Or east or westward where the tide,
Runs up the thirsty sands.
Thro' greenly wooded lands,
Or east or westward where the tide,
Runs up the thirsty sands.
A Saxon Mother's shrieks have rung,
Blue-veined and wild and fair,
A she-wolf raving for her young,
Around her empty lair.
Blue-veined and wild and fair,
A she-wolf raving for her young,
Around her empty lair.
Telling her strong woe-stricken Chief,
“They came across the sea,
“In their beaked ships, and O my grief!
“They tore my boys from me!”
“They came across the sea,
“In their beaked ships, and O my grief!
“They tore my boys from me!”
How they the while by Tiber's flood,
With blue wide-open eye,
In Rome's slave-market wondering stood,
And saw the knights go by.
With blue wide-open eye,
In Rome's slave-market wondering stood,
And saw the knights go by.
458
And saw the fair Patricians pass,
Gold fillets in their hair,
But never one that cried, “Alas!
“To sell two things so rare.”
Gold fillets in their hair,
But never one that cried, “Alas!
“To sell two things so rare.”
How marvelling much and fearing much,
Half terror, half amaze,
They felt the Christian Prelate's touch,
And met his pitying gaze.
Half terror, half amaze,
They felt the Christian Prelate's touch,
And met his pitying gaze.
Gently his hand was o'er them bent,
Sweetly his shrift was given,
“Not Anglians then, but Angels sent,
“To win their isle to heaven.”
Sweetly his shrift was given,
“Not Anglians then, but Angels sent,
“To win their isle to heaven.”
And when the great Augustine came,
To evangelize our race,
With lifted cross and words of flame,
And deeds of love and grace,
To evangelize our race,
With lifted cross and words of flame,
And deeds of love and grace,
The Mother saw her sons again,
White-robed and book in palm,
Come chanting down their native glen,
So rich, so sweet a Psalm.
White-robed and book in palm,
Come chanting down their native glen,
So rich, so sweet a Psalm.
That she, still following that sweet sound,
Of hope and peace, went up,
And, with her sons, a Saviour found
And drank salvation's cup.
Of hope and peace, went up,
And, with her sons, a Saviour found
And drank salvation's cup.
459
Thus all the isle to light awoke,
From Odin's thraldom freed,
And took the gentle Christian yoke,
And learn'd the Christian Creed.
From Odin's thraldom freed,
And took the gentle Christian yoke,
And learn'd the Christian Creed.
As some wild flower by hill or wave,
God's presence bids us feel,
So the child's beauty in the slave,
Could rouse the Patriarch's zeal.
God's presence bids us feel,
So the child's beauty in the slave,
Could rouse the Patriarch's zeal.
And thus it was our sires were taught,
God's truth and Christ's dear lore,
And England's blue-eyed children brought,
His message to our shore.
God's truth and Christ's dear lore,
And England's blue-eyed children brought,
His message to our shore.
| Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander | |